


More Frequent Than To Fail

by literaryconfectionery



Category: Toshokan Sensou | Library War
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Dojo doesn't know how to deal with any feelings that aren't anger, Early in Canon, F/M, Guns, Iku is trying her best, demon instructor Dojo Atsushi, emotional tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryconfectionery/pseuds/literaryconfectionery
Summary: Recent Task Force recruit Iku Kasahara has yet to hit a target with her rifle, much to her Instructor's chagrin. Komaki suggests a one-to-one training session, during which Dojo discovers there are limits to his patience.





	More Frequent Than To Fail

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Love is More Thicker Than Forget by E. E. Cummings.

“Not good enough, Kasahara!”

Even with her safety headphones on, even with the others firing to her left and right, Library Task Force recruit Iku Kasahara can hear Instructor Dojo’s wrath behind her. She glances sheepishly over her shoulder to where he's leaning against the wall, arms folded, overseeing proceedings with a scowl.

“Look where your weapon is pointed, idiot!” Dojo barks.

“Cease fire!” Komaki calls to the group from further along the range, sensing an oncoming storm. “Safety on.” The group follows his instruction, lowering their rifles and removing their ear protection.

The recruits’ mentors—more experienced members of the Defence Force—step up and begin discussing this round’s results with the team. They’ve been here doing rifle practice for nearly an hour now, and it's beginning to take its toll on concentration and fatigued muscles.

“I can’t watch this any longer,” Dojo says. In spite of his words, his glare doesn't leave Iku, even as he pushes away from the wall to approach her. “Kasahara. I’ve lost count of how many sessions you’ve done now, and _still_ you are the only person on the Defence Force, let alone the _Task Force_ , who hasn't managed to land a single shot on target.”

“What an embarrassment,” Tezuka mutters to her left.

“At least I'm not scared of heights, you smug ass!” Iku snaps over her shoulder, forgetting for a moment to look contrite.

“Kasahara, focus! Tezuka, stay out of this.”

Komaki is suddenly at Dojo's side, a placating hand on his shoulder. “You know, perhaps she just needs some extra lessons. I'm sure one-on-one tutoring would benefit her.”

“And who's going to give up their time to do that?”

“You, of course,” Komaki smiles. “You _are_ her instructor, after all.”

“I—”

“It'd be worth it,” he adds, lowering his voice, turning Dojo away from Iku slightly. “If it at least brings her up to speed with the rest of the Defence recruits. She's strong, and fast… if she can crack this, she’ll have real potential in the field. I think you know I’m right.”

Dojo scowls darkly up at Komaki, who just shrugs, eyebrow raised, head tilted innocently. With a sigh, Dojo shrugs his friend off and turns back. “Fine. Kasahara, you are to report back here tomorrow morning at 0600 hours, and we'll see if there's anything to be done about your god-awful aim. Don't forget to bring your rifle.”

Iku splutters. “Six am?!”

“You heard me! And stop looking like a kicked puppy, it's pathetic!”

“I'm not—”

“Shut up! Dismissed!”

\--

At one minute past six exactly Iku barrels into the range, messy, breathless, skidding to a halt before her instructor with a hasty salute.

“You're late,” he says, voice acidic. His uniform is neat, posture pole-straight, arms folded over his crisp green Defence Force shirt. The perfect picture of authority.

“Wha—” indignant, Iku checks her watch. “One minute! What's sixty seconds in the grand scheme of—”

“Idiot! Sixty seconds could make all the difference in a combat situation! You think the MBC are going to wait sixty seconds for you?”

Iku huffs, but doesn't argue, too busy catching her breath. Dojo eyes the strap slung hastily over her shoulder. “You brought your rifle, then?”

She blinks slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Instructor, I brought my rifle to rifle practice. I may not be as smart as Shibazaki but I'm not completely brain-dead, you know!”

“That's debatable,” Dojo mutters. “If you're not completely brain-dead, then perhaps you can tell me why you’ve got your weapon slung over your shoulder like some kind of handbag?”

“Huh?”

“Do you never listen to a single thing I say? Do the words _positive control_ mean anything at all to you, blockhead?!”

_Positive…? Oh._

At once, she remembers: keep your weapon in front of you, at least one hand on it, in control of it at all times. Right! Scrambling to re-adjust the strap, Iku brings her rifle in front of her, muzzle facing downwards, and holds it steady with one hand. For good measure, she even checks the safety is still on.

“That's better,” Dojo nods. He steps smoothly aside. “Now, take your position.”

Iku does as she's bid, already wishing she could be somewhere else, doing anything but this. Breakfast would be preferable. Or a nap. Why has she always got to be singled out? Why select her for the Task Force in the first place, if all they were going to do was berate her? And why couldn't Komaki tutor her instead, with his patience and kind smiles? This demon instructor is such a…

As if on cue, Dojo interrupts her thoughts. “I despair, Kasahara. I really do.”

Iku twists to scowl at him. “What's wrong with my stance? Look, I listened to you from last practice—I'm stable.”

‘Stable’ isn’t the first word Dojo would have chosen to describe her; ‘ridiculous’ jumps to mind more readily. But, he grants, she does indeed look stable, legs locked into position about shoulder width apart. It looks as though it would take some force to push her over. However… Dojo walks around her until he's almost in front of her, making sure to stay out of her gun's sights.

Then he throws a fist at her face.

She flinches with a yelp, and he stops just shy of her nose, his control precise. With eyes as wide as dinner plates, she squeaks, “what was that for?!”

“If I hadn't stopped myself, you would be out cold.” Dojo drops his fist. “In judo practice, you would have easily dodged, moved out of the way immediately, or blocked—or even all three—even if you’d been caught unawares. What's the difference here?”

“This is weapons practice, not judo!”

“Right. But you're training for combat scenarios, Kasahara. Your stance is fine for someone whose only goal is to hit a target, but this is not that—I want to see a stance that's versatile, that's ready to move. Anything could happen in the midst of battle, so don’t root yourself into one place like a statue. Now is the time to ingrain good habits that will help you in the field, understand?”

Iku nods, chastised.

“Right. Relax your legs and bend your knees just slightly. Good. Release the tension in your back, here, and here,” he says, touching her back where her muscles are clearly tight, keeping her spine ramrod straight. She twitches at his touch, almost a flinch, but Dojo assumes it was just unexpected, careful not to read anything into it.

“And just what the hell,” he snaps suddenly, “is your left arm doing?!”

 _Oh, what now?_ Iku groans inwardly. What is her left arm doing? It's supporting the muzzle. She says as much to her devil of an instructor, trying not to sound too defensive.

“Yes, I can see that. It's keeping it very stable, good for accuracy.”

Iku nods, relaxing—so she did something right for once. Good.

“But it's wrong!” Dojo barks. His voice echoes back from the concrete wall downrange.

“What? But you just said—”

“I also just said that your stance is inflexible! Or weren't you listening? Your stance is not just your legs, idiot, and that arm is locked tightly into place. It is just as important to be able to move yourself and your weapon around as it is to be able to hit a target.”

Iku turns her head away to roll her eyes—but before she can manage even that much, Dojo seizes her chin and wrenches her head back around to look at him. Taken aback, she complies easily in her surprise; his stare is intense, and she swallows.

“Listen to me, Kasahara: this is not a game.” Dojo’s voice is low and gruff, his breath warm. “What I'm telling you today just might save your life one day. I don’t give a damn whether you can hit the target if you can’t keep yourself safe while doing it, understand? So for God’s sake, take this seriously!” He releases her chin as he finishes, pushing it away from him as though disgusted. She doesn't stumble, but tears prick behind her eyes. Her face burns.

_Why is he so angry? Is he really that concerned with keeping me safe?_

Dojo moves around to her left side, and his hands are gentle this time when they prise her fingers from the muzzle, bending her elbow slightly and repositioning her grip. “There,” he says, much more quietly, the tone a soothing contrast to his cutting chastisement. “When you bring your weapon vertical now”—he places his hands over hers and rotates the rifle to demonstrate—“feel how easily it comes? And yet when you return to horizontal, like this, you're still stable enough to be accurate. Memorise where I've placed your hands, because I want you to replicate this hold exactly every time you make ready. Is that clear?”

His hands are still on hers, warm and strong; in order to reach around her, his face is almost touching her shoulder, his hair tickling her cheek. She swallows thickly and twists her neck to look down at him, speechless. Whatever he sees in her face, he releases her immediately, as though burnt.

He clears his throat, looking resolutely at the target. “I said, is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” she says, inexplicably hoarse. What's wrong with her? They grapple and wrestle in judo all the time without hesitation, but _now_ her face is red?

“Once more, then, and show me the correct pose this time.”

Her second try is better, but still not perfect, so Dojo makes some minor adjustments and then instructs her to try again. After the tenth try, she starts to become consistent in her stance, but that—as Dojo is quick to point out—is only half the battle.

“Alright, let’s go for real. Remember what I’ve taught you. Make ready this time.”

Iku replicates the pose again, but this time, she smoothly loads a magazine into the gun, checks her sights, and takes aim. She awaits her next order with a steady resolve that Dojo, much to his chagrin, can’t help but… admire. He’d thought that chasing some half-forgotten stranger was a poor motivator, but it becomes more and more clear that her passion runs deeper than that. He has a grudging respect for her perseverance, and something about her wild willpower resonates with a certain long-buried part of him. Every time he knocks her down, she bounces back stronger, even more determined. That’s why he has to keep doing it.

“Um… Instructor?”

Dojo jolts back to reality to find his subordinate gazing at him questioningly over her shoulder. “What? What are you looking at? I told you to make ready!”

“I am ready!”

“No you’re not!”

“What now?!”

“A little respect wouldn’t go amiss, Corporal Kasahara,” Dojo fires back, eyes narrowed dangerously. He notes with satisfaction that Iku immediately closes her mouth. “Look through your sights again, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

She seems almost reluctant to look away, but obeys nonetheless. After she takes her position, Dojo approaches her once more. “You're standing much better, and your grip is spot on, but look at this—your neck is bending right down to look through the sight. God, no wonder you’ve never hit anything! We’ve been through this a million times, Kasahara: I want to see your head upright and facing forward; bring the weapon to your eye line, not your eye line to your weapon. Do you understand?”

“I thought you said I was holding it right this—”

“The proper response is ‘yes sir’,” Dojo interrupts, eyes narrowed.

“But… I don’t understand, instructor.”

Dojo sighs. “Your hands are in the right place, but you just need to reposition the stock against your shoulder. It’s important you get this right, or you could hurt yourself—in fact, let me—”

Before she can protest, he’s lifting her rifle from near her underarm to higher up on her shoulder, using his fingers to locate the safest place to absorb the recoil. She stiffens under his touch, which is to be expected, but doesn’t relax when he releases her again, rifle repositioned, which is… less expected.

“Now tell me, Kasahara, what does ‘cheek-to-stock weld’ mean?”

“Um… it’s like…” She pauses, and the pause becomes a silence, telling.

“Really? Is that really the best you can do?” Dojo scoffs. “A Task Force member?”

Iku’s shoulders hunch, fingers whitening, but she says nothing.

“For heaven’s sake! How do you expect to be of any use if you can’t retain even the most basic information? You really don’t have a clue, do you?!”

She finches as though his words are gunshots. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re sorry? Are you? You’ll really be sorry when we’re called into battle and you can’t even hold your damned gun!”

Dojo sees the muscles in her delicate throat as she swallows, her eyes fixed blankly downrange. Somehow it makes his blood boil even more, annoyed to find his gaze lingering on that graceful neck, breathing sharply through flared nostrils, jaw clenched. It’s surely impossible for someone to be both clumsy and elegant. And yet.

_Why does she have to be so…_

_So…_

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, idiot!” He bellows, his hands balling into fists. Iku’s head snaps towards him, but it’s still lowered, her gaze fixed on his boots; he can’t stop himself from marching closer and grasping her chin once more. “When you’re addressed by a senior officer—” The words lodge in his throat as her face is lifted upwards finally. Shit. _Shit_. She’s crying. He’s gone too far. Dismayed, he lets go of her and takes it all in: the downturned lips pressed tightly together, the eyebrows twin slopes of sorrow, red-rimmed eyes swimming with dejection. What happened to the determined Kasahara of mere minutes ago? The one who always bounces back?

“Kasahara, what… _what_?”

The breath that Iku takes in is shaky. For a moment, it doesn’t seem like she’s going to reply, until, after a long hesitation, she says, “I’m trying my best, Instructor. I really am.”

Dojo deflates.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know you are. Let’s leave it there for today, alright? You’ve already improved a lot.”

“What? But I haven’t even fired a single shot...”

“Today’s lesson was all about stance and handling; these things are far more important than you realise, and what we’ve gone through will help you greatly if you remember it in future. Show me it’s made safe, and then lower your weapon, Kasahara.” As soon as the gun is safely back at Iku’s side, Dojo steps forward again into the space left, looking up into her eyes. “I am going to keep pushing you,” he says, his voice almost a murmur, “because I know you can do great. I know you’ve got it in you to be a good soldier.” He steps back slightly, voice raising. “So toughen up, Corporal, because you and I both know this isn’t going to be easy. This is the Task Force, the best of the best; there’s no time for wallowing in self pity here. Am I understood?”

Iku hastily scrubs at her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Dojo nods. For a moment, instead of seeing an irritating subordinate before him, he sees a lanky girl, hunched over in dejection, head hanging. Something in his chest contracts painfully, and then, well. He doesn’t _decide_ to do it, it just sort of... happens.

Iku looks up from under her wet lashes, startled, as she’s patted fondly on the head.

“You did well, Kasahara. I… I do see the effort you’re putting in. It’ll pay off in the end if you keep it up.” Of its own volition, his hand gives her hair a final, almost affectionate ruffle. “Well done.”

He flees too quickly to be sure, but if he’s not mistaken, he might have glimpsed a smile on her flushed face.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't like guns and know absolutely nothing about them, so everything technical is from a handful of youtube videos on the subject. Sorry for any inaccuracies!


End file.
